


April 1995

by helsinkibaby



Series: The Pieces of my Life [5]
Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation, The West Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, F/M, Het, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 07:44:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2142810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helsinkibaby/pseuds/helsinkibaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spring Break ... their second kiss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	April 1995

It is April 1995 when he kisses her for the second time.

They are in Florida for Spring Break, and they are sitting on a beach in the early afternoon, the bright summer sun shining down on them, and mercifully as far as Greg and his headache are concerned, the beach is pretty much deserted. There are no shrieking students with drinking games and alcohol, there is just the sun and the sand and the sound of the surf, and there is Ellie sitting beside him, offering him her insight on what he did the previous night. Which is a blessing as far as Greg is concerned, because myriad tequila shots have pretty much obliterated any memories he might have.

He is lying back on the sand, his eyes closed, and he knows, from squinting up at her when she tells him something that sounds just a little too far-fetched, even for him, that Ellie is sitting up straight, legs crossed, sifting sand through her hands. He's been looking at her an awful lot thus far, because he's rapidly learning that Ellie's got one of the best poker faces in the business, can make even the most ridiculous story sound plausible. He can tell when she's putting him on though, most of the time, if he looks hard at her, really looks into her eyes.

The only thing is though, judging by what he's seeing, she's not lying about most of the stuff he got up to, and he realises that he must have been even more drunk than his hangover tells him.

When she gets to the part about him diving naked from the roof of their motel into the pool, he knows that she's making it up, sits upright and turns a disgusted look on her. "I did not do that," he tells her, and she gives him her most innocent look, nodding her head, and she does not blink.

For a moment, she's almost convinced him, but then the façade cracks, and her face breaks into a huge smile. She laughs out loud, throwing her head back for good measure. "OK, you didn't," she admits. "But I had you going."

He can't deny it, so he doesn't, instead throws a handful of sand at her, purposefully missing her face but getting her hair with no trouble at all. She makes a face, tries to shake most of it out, spraying him in the process. "You," he decides, "Are a cruel woman."

"And you," she counters, throwing a handful of sand at his chest, "Are an easy mark." She gives him a hard look, squinting against the glare of the sun. "Do you even remember last night's girl?"

"She had blonde hair?" he tries, and the look she gives him is anything but amused.

"Red."

"Ah." Truth be told, anything after midnight is a blur, though now she mentions it, he does remember a blonde from last night, except that it was a blonde guy who was chatting her up. "The blonde was yours," he tries, and he knows that he guessed right when a blush begins to creep up her cheeks. "Ah-ha!" he cries, regretting the exclamation when its echo stabs through his head like a lance, but he sits up anyway, wanting to know more details. "Who was he?"

She shifts uncomfortably, pulls her legs up to her chin, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "His name was Rick," she says. "Psych major from Harvard, junior year… he's a nice guy."

"Nice?" He rolls the word around his mouth, doesn't like how it tastes. "What does that mean?"

She narrows her eyes, as if she's not sure what he means. "It means we talked," she tells him flatly. "Danced a little…" Except the blush on her cheeks is creeping up higher and hotter, and he knows that she did more than just dance.

"Really?" His voice is just as flat as hers had been, and she blinks, looking decidedly taken aback.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Judging from the tone of her voice, the colour on her cheeks has little to do with embarrassment any more, and he shrugs, trying to be off-hand. "Nothing."

She grins, but it's nowhere near a full wattage Ellie-smile. In fact, she looks more than a little uncertain when she speaks. "It sounds like something," she tells him and he shrugs, shifting uncomfortably.

"He just… he didn't look like your type. Is all," he informs her, the words ringing hollow even with him, and definitely with her, as evidenced by her raised eyebrow.

"Ever hear of double standards?" she asks him, lying back down on the sand and closing her eyes, bringing her arms up behind her head to act as a pillow, a suspicious little smirk on her face.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He throws her own words back at her and her smirk grows wider.

"It means that you're having a great time looking for Miss Perfect," she says. "Why shouldn't I have a little fun looking for Mr Right?"

He looks at her then, really looks at her, that mischievous little grin on her face, and a thought that's been flitting around the back of his mind, eluding capture, since Christmas, chrysalises and comes to the fore.

"What if I've already found her?"

She frowns, wrinkling her nose in confusion as she squints over at him. Whatever she sees in his face makes her swallow hard. "Greg?"

He smiles, because everything's suddenly very clear to him, lies down on his side, propping himself up on one elbow. His free hand reaches out to touch her cheek ever so gently, and her eyes flutter closed at the sensation. "What if I've already found her?" he asks again, not taking his eyes off her face, even as he leans in close to her, fitting his lips to hers.

Just like on the steps of her dorm at Christmas, her lips are soft and warm, and they fit to his perfectly, and just like at Christmas, he doesn't want to pull away from her. Unlike at Christmas however, there is no little voice at the back of his head telling him that this is a really bad idea, that they shouldn't be doing this. There's a little voice all right, but that little voice is pointing out that Ellie is one in a million and is wondering what the hell took him so long to notice that, to do this.

He's got no reply to that little voice, so he just keeps on kissing her in the hopes that that will shut it up.

He doesn't stop kissing her until he feels her hands work their way under his T-shirt, realises that his hands are just as busily working their way up the skin of her back. Upon pulling away, he further realises that he's lying on top of her, their legs entwined, and he knows that if they keep on like this, there's only one place that this is going to end up.

And while he knows he wants that, he also knows that he doesn't want it like this.

So, with supreme difficulty, he puts some distance between them, places a kiss on her forehead as he does so. She's still frowning up at him though, her cheeks pink, her hair mussed. "Greg?" she asks, and confusion is written all over her face. "What's wrong?

He sighs, shakes his head, hardly able to believe what he's about to say. "We can't do this Ellie."

He knows it was the wrong choice of words when her face darkens, when she sits up properly, pulling her knees up to her chin and wrapping her arms around them. It's a screamingly defensive posture, and she looks mad as hell, with tears in her eyes. He pulls himself up to sit beside her, rests a hand on her ramrod straight back. "I didn't mean it like that," he tells her softly, and she laughs, a harsh, humourless laugh.

"How did you mean it then?" she mutters, not looking at him, and undaunted by her stiffness, he puts his arm around her, squeezes her shoulder.

"Believe me Ell," he says, "There's nothing more I want to do than lay you back here and kiss you dizzy…" Her head turns sharply towards him, and he chuckles. "I want to do a hell of a lot more than that… but I'm not gonna."

She shakes her head, eyes narrowed into slits of confusion. "Why? Greg, it's not like I'm the first girl you've slept with… I'm not even the first this week."

"That's why… don't you see?" She obviously doesn't, and his free hand goes to one of hers, and it's easier to look at that, at their entwined fingers, than it is to look at her face. He's not really put much thought into this, is speaking right from the heart, and he's got the feeling that it's going to come out sounding ridiculous, that she's going to laugh at him, and he'd really rather not see that. "You're not like other girls… you're Ellie. And you can roll your eyes all you want, and you can laugh all you want, but our first time… your first time… it's not going to be on a beach, or in some fleabag motel during Spring Break… you deserve better than that. More." He breaks off then, shakes his head, still not looking at her. "I'm not explaining this well."

She clears her throat, and her free hand closes over his, squeezes hard. "You're doing fine." Her voice is choked, and when he looks up, surprised, at her, he sees tears standing in her eyes.

He leans over then, kisses her forehead, and this time when he pulls away, meeting her eyes is easy. "I just don't want you to think that this is just something that happened on Spring Break… that it doesn’t mean anything. Because it does mean something. You mean something… and I didn't even realise it until a few minutes ago. And you're you and you're my best friend, and I don't want anything to come between that, so I don't want to go too far too fast and screw everything up…" He's talking quickly, trying to get his ideas out, and she's laughing at him, but not, as he feared, in a mean way. That's made clear to him when she leans forward, kisses him hard on the lips.

When she breaks the kiss, there are tear tracks on her cheeks, but her eyes are shining. "You can be really sweet sometimes," she tells him, and he moves one shoulder up and down in a shrug, grinning at her.

"Don't tell anyone," he says. "You'll ruin my reputation."

She laughs at that, smacking him lightly on the shoulder, and he laughs too, pulling her into a hug before kissing her again.

It is a long time before they rise to join the others, and when they make their reappearance, when their friends' eyes fall on their joined hands, their happy, if sheepish, grins, they all get wide, knowing grins on their faces. He and Ellie blithely ignore them, and when John pulls him aside later, tells him that it's about damn time, Greg just grins before going back to his girl and enjoying the rest of the vacation.  



End file.
